


Insomnia

by MaryEllen



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: And OOC, Gen, Or Natasha - Freeform, Sorry guys, again sorry, dont even ask, everyone is pretty traumatised, its actually not sexual at all, mostly totally traumatised steve, not happy at all, only a little sharon, or Bucky, srsly, too much OOC, totally traumatised tony, very sad, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryEllen/pseuds/MaryEllen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the year 2020, America had decided to go to war against ISIS. 2014 Steve Rogers, age 26 was found and revived. A year and a half ago, he was sent to find two soldiers only to get lost again. Now Fury only sees one chance to get Captain America back. He seeks the help of Tony Stark, a brilliant head, with a brilliant suit. But after her captivity for two years in Iraq, Tony has lost brilliance and also her identity. But when her sullen life suddenly explodes and she is put into war, she can function again. Will she help Fury to find Steve? Or is she still wishing Fury would die for what he did to her, 5 years ago? And what will happen once Tony finds this lost man? ....She feels a firm grip on her wrist. She looks down. Dark, blue eyes stare at her, mouth open, face covered in dried blood. "Howard," the face whispers. "Howard...."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, thank you for looking at my fanfiction. Please consider, I have no idea whatsover about the comics, I only know the movies and the characters might be, or actually are OOC: out of character.  
> Tony is female, Steve is totally done with life and anything that has to do with breathing...so yeah...maybe enjoy.  
> Also, English is not my mothertongue, I will have a lot of mistakes in it! So maybe write in the comments about the grammar mistakes or in general whatever you found, I will mostly appreciate it!

 

 

 

She felt miserable. The cold was tickling her and it felt like soft torture. But torture nevertheless. Evertyhing felt like torture.

Waking, breathing, _eating_. God, she despised eating. She felt horribly fat, especially after New Year’s - again a new Year and it seemed like nothing had changed at all. Everything had got better, besides her.

Again.

As usual.

 

 

She was chewing fingernails, waiting in line.

 

“You wanna wrap it up?,” the cashier asks and she is jumping like for a fucking contest or something. People are staring. And she wishes to not be, just simply dying here and now. Like a flower you pick up. So easily dead....so easily, easily dead.

 

It had been a bad decision, no, not a bad, a stupid decision, jesus why was she always so stupid?

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You are not a genius, you are _pathetic_. You are nothing. What are you afraid of? That people recognize you? Don’t be a fool, sweetie, no one will recognize you. No one…

 

 

She leaves the building, the present for Pep, everything, running around New York like a lost orphan, or home alone. She remembers watching it with Mum. It feels a million years ago. It is cold outside, ass-freezing. Her hands are numb after a minute, hurting and itching from behind, like this headache you get from not enough sleep, which she always has. She can forget it sometimes, the ache deep inside the brain, like a parasite, hidden inside of this curved, yellowy flesh of her brain.

 

She stops in an alleyway. Her breath is white, it looks like cigarette-smoke. “Looking for someone?” She turns around, confused. It's a homeless man. He smells of sour cream, sweat and McDonalds.

She looks back into the alleyway, hoping to disappear like a shadow. “Is there something? ,” the bum asks again. He had a big Mac, she thinks. Her stomach growls loudly. Her blue eyes meet the grey of the old tramp. He has the face of God. “You look like god, do you know that?”

Her voice is hoarse, clumsy. It sounds like the smoke she is breathing out. The tramp smiles broadly, one, lonely tooth left in his wide mouth. “Thank you missis, no one had said that before. “ There is pregnant silence, stretching into nothingness. It seems the homeless guy waits for her saying anything. But there is nothing to say. It starts snowing eventually. “Missis you’ve got a home? I can bring you to some shelter for homeless people you know?”

Her blue eyes go back to the dark way, where a pile of corpses lay around. The cold takes their smell. She blinks. The corpses stay. “Say God,” she whispers. “Is there a pile of corpses?” The bum stares at her. He doesn't answer.

She blinks again and breaths. She breathes the smell of blood and fat. It is a certain scent, one recognizes immediately. Like your mom, or a specific touch. It reminds you of a all the horrible things you have been through, and go through again. Like a horror movie you hate but your friends force you to watch. Again, and again. Again and again. You are in a circle you can't escape. You can merely try to widen the circle or make it smaller. But does it change something? Will you ever get out? Will you ever stop smelling?

Only when you are dead. Only when you are dead, you can forget and relax. She envies the dead bodies in this dark alleyway. They sleep and do not care. Only the living care.

 

"Kill me," she whispers to the dead. "Just....kill me..."

_____

 

“Sir? Sir? Your heart rate is alarming right now, Sir? Do you hear me?”

 

“Yes Jarvis, I do,” she confirms.

She is covered in sweat, lying on the floor, heart beating for a marathon.

“How long did I sleep, Jarvis?”

“5 minutes and 34 seconds.”

“Oh? That long? Jesus…” There is a pregnant pause. Tony looks up suspiciously .

“You wanna tell me something Jarvis?”

The computer takes its time to answer.

“Yes Sir, please consider that these 5 minutes and 34 seconds were actually the only sleep you got for a whole week, Sir and I know you well enough to not remind you that insomnia can end deadly.”

She nods softly, rubbing her eyes.

“Sure Jarvis, whatever.” She stands up, black stars popping inside her head like firework. She slowly walks to the couch, lays down and is glad to be exhausted enough to sleep, at least she hopes that. “Jarvis? Could you buy something nice for Pep?”, she murmurs before falling into a sphere between waking and sleeping, where a nightmare hunts the next.

 

_____

 

“Happy New Year!” She has bought a nice Botticelli calendar (or better: Jarvis did) for Pep, she knows how much he loves art. Actually she forgot how large and huge Stark Tower and therefore Pep’s bureau is.

“It is the 20th of January, so I guess?” But when Pep looks up and recognizes Tony he is gasping. “Jesus Tony! Are you alright? Where have you been? You didn’t answer the calls, nothing! I almost thought about calling the police!” He runs around the table, grasping Tony by the shoulders. “You look….”

“Don’t say it! Let me guess!,” she laughs back, turning herself, throwing the present into Pep’s arms. “Astonishing, beautiful? No, no, wait! I look awesome!” Tony stops, out of breath, falling almost into Pep, who quickly catches her.

“Careful now….I mean, yeah you look….nice I guess.”

 

She looks at him with confused blue eyes.

“What is it Pep?,” she sighs deeply. “Something is up, isn’t? Did Anthony-“

“Is that me you’re talking about?,” a loud voice intrudes and a young man enters the room. He is the beginning thirties, a tight Jeans, a black shirt and a wonderful leather jacket covering his well-muscled body that somehow point out his beauty in a dazzling way. A nice mustache that suits his abnormally beautiful face and black hair curling around his huge brown eyes.

The man looks gorgeous and Tony cannot believe how much this man represents the person she always tried to be. Anthony Edward Stark. He walks right to her and throws a strong arm around her shoulders.

“Man, you lost a lot of weight now, didn’t you? I almost didn’t recognize you.” “Thanks,” she beams. She is craving for Stark’s affection, just like she did for her father’s. In retrospective she always hates herself for this crawling behavior but in the moment she forgets herself. She would go into fire for this man, whose real name was Jack Spencers. But let’s face it, he is Anthony Stark the heir of Stark Industries, grandson of the famous Howard Stark and son of the more famous Edward Stark, who turned this company into a fearless giant. Stark's smile is bright and generous, he pulls Tony closer to him, so she can smell his aftershave.

“Oh Pepe, don't give me that look,” he imitates a very bad, but awfully charming Italian accent. Pep rolls his bronze eyes. “I don't make a face Anthony, it's just ….” He throws a glance at Tony. “I think she is very thin, you know? Like...,” raised hands in defense, “....too thin-”

“Come on Pepe, we live in a country where everyone gets fat sooner or later. I think,” smiling lovely at Tony, “you can't be thin _enough_ can't you?”

Tony grins back, while Pep looks as if someone just slapped him in the face.

“Sure, whatever Jack, do you have anything important to say?” It gets pretty cold in Pep's bureau. Tony has the strong, sudden urge to hide like a bunny.

Stark's smile becomes a thin line.

“I don't know who you are talking to, Pepé, because for you it's still-” “The real Stark is here, so I call you by your real-”

“Pep,” Tony calmly interrupts. He is looking at her with his warm, bronze eyes, a very harsh expression on his normally soft face. It is a duel of eyes, when Pep's expression changes into utter desperation and exhaustion.

A cold chuckle fills the room. Stark's chuckle.

“See, Pepé?” He positions himself in front of the tall Pep, who now seems so small, so very, very small. "I am Stark. I am Iron Man. I am perfect."

Stark and Pep are so close their noses almost touch. Pep just looks at him with the most despisable look a human on earth could probably have.

Tony wishes to disappear, to simply disappear. He hates Pep seeing like that, but Pep has to understand that this _whole thing_ must stay _whole_ , because if one is falling out there will be people getting hurt, especially Tony, who enjoys this quiet life.

But it seems Pep is not going to surrender. And Tony is afraid of it, too afraid to even think about it.

 

When Stark takes her out of the bureau, she glances back for a second, only to see a very grim expression on Pep's face.

“Forget this boy, you look fantastic,” Stark's voice is so warm, like a purr from a cat. And Tony loves it, she wants to vanish in this purr like in a warm blanket, or a pool filled with melted chocolate.

“Hey,” he suddenly makes a halt, taking her by the shoulders and Tony can't believe how beautiful Stark is, so very, very beautiful. “Tomorrow there will be a meeting with the Stark council and important people rada rada rada...whatever, they will present something to us, to me, I mean and maybe you wanna come with me and after that we gonna catch a drink? What do you say? I haven't seen-”

“I can't Antony, I mean.....I...-” is she really stuttering? Really? What would her father think of her? What did he always say? Never show weakness, never reveal your true self, only glimpses and always in a wrong order, so people judge you wrongly and in the right moment, you catch them like a dumb, fat bird. Let them feel strong, only to crush them like a nut.

And what was she doing? Stuttering? Seeking affection? How low could she get? Was there a even deeper place, she hasn't foud yet, or was she already at the very bottom of everything?

“Why not? You-”

“I am ugly, Antony, seriously a Stark shouldn't be seen-”

“It's been four years and with a little bit of make up no one sees it, I mean look at you now! You look fantastic, sweetheart! There are no scars, nothing. Come on, please!”

Why did he have to have such gorgeous, brown, chocolate eyes? He grins brightly, like a child and with a deep sigh, she nods shily. She stood 1 hour in the damn bathroom, only to cover the neck with enough make up and for her face ...it had taken forever....but she would go with him. She would spend time with Stark and why the hell ….where there butterflies flying inside her stomach, or bats? She doesn't know.

 

When she returns to her lab, in a cellar somewhere in Brooklyn, she pauses for a moment, rethinking everything. Was Pep right? Maybe she should go watch herself In a mirror? Though she threw every mirror, every glass everything away. She hates her appearance, her scars that mark her body, like ugly tattoos, never fading, to deep went the fire.

She presses a little hand on her glowing chest, where the arc reactor humms softly. She really is a horribly patched carpet, ain't she? Scars everywhere. Jesus, she is a fucking mess. Again she looks on her old, worn watch.

Maybe, she thought.....maybe a flight would help me....

_No, no fucking way, no you are not doing that, you are not taking the suit. Remember what Stark said? I am Iron Man. He is. Not you. Though you build it, and you make all the tec stuff, and you are working 64 hours a day for this company and all he does is looking pretty. Seriously what would he be without you? No one...nothing, a pretty dishwasher somewhere in Washington, paying the debts of his drunk, idiotic Dad. You are the one who saved this rotten company, reviving from the ashes. You were the one who turned a giant with weapons into a giant of renewable, awesome technology, reversing fucking climate change. And what is Jack doing? Terrorising Pep and Happy probably too. Pep is worried about you, while Jack...._

 

“ENOUGH!” she screams. “SHUT UP!” She takes a hard disk, throwing it with a loud bang against the wall. “I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT!” She takes a stool and crashing it again and again against the floor, till it breaks into pieces. “HE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN DO IT!” A fabric covered the table and she takes it and rips it apart, screaming and crying.

“BECAUSE!” She takes a plate and throws it against the wooden table.

“HE!” She takes another one. Crash.

“IS!” Crash.

“A!” Crash.

“FUCKING!” Crash.

“MAN!”

She falls on the floor, sobbing hopelessly, in sudden anger she takes the watch, holding it up with her left hand. And then she quickly takes it, clutching it against her chest, where a strange light hums lightly. Oh jesus and maria, how fucked up she is. She is so fucking fucked up, fucked up doesn't even come close to describe her. She is a goddamn maniac, a psychopath, a hypochondriac.... no Stark.

____________

 

Kinda enjoyed it? Tell me your thoughts? See ya next chapter ^^


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